


Toy

by laughablyunimportant



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Anal Fingering, Artificial Intelligence, Asphyxiation, Complete, Light Bondage, Mirror Sex, Nipple Play, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-06
Updated: 2012-03-06
Packaged: 2017-11-01 13:49:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/357508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laughablyunimportant/pseuds/laughablyunimportant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The discovery that the brobot would help him get off, if so instructed, had come as a shock to Jake. But, after a while, he had decided that if he had the equipment available to him, what was the harm in using it?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Toy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [notdavesprite](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=notdavesprite).



           Jake's mouth opens and closes, small squeaking sounds escaping as he struggles against the metal hand holding him down by his throat. Another hand is working his cock, a third rubbing at his chest, and a fourth playing with his ass, slicked with lube and teasing at his entrance. He would be whimpering and moaning, begging the brobot for more, to go harder, to just _give_ it to him already, but he hasn't got enough air to do much of anything. He wishes he could see himself, and it's like the brobot can read his mind along with his vitals, because he's wrenched around, metal digits at his throat disappearing long enough for him to gasp and choke, air burning in lungs that feel paper-thin and fragile before he's hauled up onto his dresser, knees bruising against the wood. He stares at himself, breaths shuddering in and out of him, legs spread and chest heaving. His neck is bruised purple, from this round and the countless ones before it, and two of the brobot's hands stroke up and down his sides, both to steady him in place, and to keep the heated flush at the surface of his skin. "Shall we get to it?" he rasps, and then the brobot is up on the dresser behind him, cold metal flush against his back, one arm at his throat to cut off his air once more.  


           The discovery that the brobot would help him get off, if so instructed, had come as a shock to Jake. His ears had burned with embarrassment, and he'd avoided the particular commands that had incited the first incident for some time, but, after a while, he had decided that if he had the equipment available to him, what was the harm in using it? It was somewhat akin to using a sex toy. He wouldn't feel guilty using a sex toy, would he?  
           But then, a sex toy wouldn't gently push his hair back and rest, forehead to forehead, when he was done. A sex toy wouldn't wrap its arms around him and hold him close all night. He wouldn't want a sex toy to.  
           He wants Brobot to.  


           His thoughts scatter and swirl, the way they always do when he can't breathe, narrowed to the sensation of hands stroking him in all the right places. Those hands were a devil to fight, but in the bedroom—fuck. _Fuck_. Two hands are tweaking his nipples, pinching at flesh and making his skin crawl with sensation. His dick twitches, and he moves, trying to twist, to press, to, anything, to take away the pressure above and create some below, but the brobot has twisted his arms behind his back, and he's helpless to do much of anything. His lungs burn and his vision blurs, hard to focus on his own image in the mirror, but there's no fear. The brobot has an intimate knowledge of his vitals, of the pace of his heart, the shutting down of his mental processes as his brain is starved of air, the spasming of muscles as he's pushed close to the edge. Metal digits work him fast, and his eyelids flutter, giving him snapshot images of himself, smeared with the haze of oxygen deprivation. Brobot behind him, red glasses seeming to peer into his face as hands rub his hips, his chest, one finger pumping into his ass in a steady slick rhythm, and then it starts to _vibrate_ , nancy knickerbockers when did it learn to do that?  
           He tries to think, but the thoughts are heavy and distant, sluggish. They don't quite make sense. He just keeps coming back to sensation, real and there, close, _so close_. The need for air is beginning to overwhelm everything else, and he thrashes, but the brobot locks him against its metal chest, pulling at him with firm, steady strokes. He feels it building, building, and just as he goes over the edge, cock pulsing and eyes rolling back as he shoots his load onto the smudged mirror, the brobot releases him, every hand disappearing to leave him limp. Every hand, but the one at his throat.  
           It's a few minutes before he comes to himself again. He's slumped back against Brobot, still positioned in an awkward kneel atop the dresser. His reflection looks flushed and undone in the mirror, where it's visible around the cum slowly sliding down. He tries to speak, but all that comes out is a pained grunt. But Brobot knows what he's thinking, and it scoops him up to take him to the stream out back—he always wants to wash up afterwards.  
           Metal shouldn't be so comfortable, but Jake presses against Brobot anyway, wishing there was something to grip with weak fingers. Everything feels like it's buzzing, in a pleasant, throbbing way, as oxygenated blood courses through his veins once more. He feels relaxed, and loose, and it's only in moments like this that he can close his eyes and murmur, "Love you."  
           But it's just the endorphins, from the afterglow. He's just using the brobot to get off. Developing feelings for a sex toy would be silly.  


           Jake English guesses he's pretty silly.


End file.
